


Glocking Around the Christmas Tree

by Valaks



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alex decking things that are not the halls, Gen, Holiday Fic Exchange, Hostage Situations, Not a single thing, Not faithful to Die Hard, Nothing good happens at work Christmas parties, Someone is up to snow good, Warning: Bad Puns Ahead, Yippee Ki Yay Mother Nutcracker, one with Alex Rider would just get lit, prepare to be disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaks/pseuds/Valaks
Summary: It was simple - Alex was going to come to Tom’s work Christmas party and help wingman him into scoring a date with Allison Hollis. He should have known that if Alex Rider was there things would go horribly wrong.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 119
Collections: Spyfest: Alex Rider Holiday Fic Exchange (December 2020)





	Glocking Around the Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> For the Christmas Exchange. Prompt: Alex and Tom are taken hostage
> 
> Big thank you to Lil Lupin for betaing (aka singlehandedly dragging me through this and breathing life into this). An even bigger thank you to her for not choking the life out of me for the number of times I whined and pouted about it. I couldn’t have done it without her.

“Can I park that for you, sir?”

Alex turned off the ignition and pulled off his helmet to find a young valet blinking at him. His name badge - read ‘Derek’, and it carried the logo of the hotel Alex had just pulled up in front of.

“Yeah. Cheers.”

Alex slid off the motorbike and handed the valet the key and helmet, taking a ticket in return. The idea of a teenager parking his beloved motorcycle didn’t thrill him, but parking in London was always a nightmare, and he couldn’t bring himself to take the tube - or, worse, catch a cab. Too many ambushes and chases had colored those for him. The motorbike had been a rare indulgence - easier to park and escape. It had raised eyebrows in Chelsea, but he had just played it off as being yet another posh boy with a fast life who wanted an even faster ride. No one would bat an eyelid here. In his expensive suit, Alex looked every bit the young investment banker he was supposed to be - at least as far as anyone would ask at this God-awful ‘Holiday Celebration’ or whatever the invitation Tom had stuck to the fridge had said.

It had appeared three weeks ago and Alex hadn’t initially paid it all that much mind. Jones could often be relied on to give him a mission to last through the holidays, which was fine by him. England was the last place he wanted to be for Christmas. Partly because of the weather; partly because it meant having to deal with the awkward questions of whether he was seeing family; but mostly because of the parties. 

Unfortunately, that hadn’t worked out this year. Alex might’ve got away with dodging this invitation with the same ‘flu’ he’d used to beg off his own office party, but when Tom had found out from a very cross Ben that Alex had used the same excuse for two years in a row, he’d insisted Alex attend his. Allegedly to get him into the Christmas spirit, but Alex suspected the real reason was because Tom wanted a wing man so he could talk to Adrianna - or whatever the name was of that colleague he couldn’t stop going on about. 

So. A night of mingling with a load of people he didn’t know. Alex supposed it was marginally better than the prospect of attending one of MI6’s parties, but only just. Dread was already pooling in his stomach as he stepped through the doors of the hotel. 

The lobby was busy with people, but it was hard not to spot Tom in his Christmas sweater printed suit. Alex did a double take at the bright red reindeer print, blinking in silent hope that it was just a lack of sleep catching up with him, before resigning himself to an evening of stares. Tom caught his eye and waved him over enthusiastically.

“’Bout time, mate; was just wondering if you were standing me up,” he said with a grin as Alex approached. 

“It’s what you’d deserve in that outfit.”

Tom looked wounded. “At least I look like I’m having fun and not like some upper class twat.” 

Alex raised his eyebrows, glancing around the lobby at the other men - who were mostly dressed very like Alex was. 

“Not sure Angela would agree,” he said.

“It’s  _ Allison _ and don’t say it so loud!” Tom looked around with wide eyes, and it was all Alex could do not to smile at that. Tom was either having Alex on or had learned nothing from him.

“She’s already inside,” he murmured.

Tom narrowed his eyes. “How do you know?” 

Alex shrugged. “Lucky guess.” It wasn’t. No one in the lobby was under the age of forty. Unless Tom was the type to go for a cougar - unlikely (although maybe it would have prevented that absolute affront of a suit he was currently wearing).

“Can we head in now and grab a drink?” 

“A  _ real _ drink?” Tom asked sceptically. “Or are you going to get a virgin like you always do?”

“Why get a virgin when I’m already stuck here with you, mate.” That earned him a punch to the arm, which was fair. “I meant stuck having to listen to boring talk about...what was it again?”

“Oil,” Tom ground out, as if he thought Alex was being deliberately provocative. “Not that you’ll hear much of it. I know you wouldn’t know since you skip out on yours, but no one talks work at work parties.” 

Tom obviously hadn’t considered that Alex had been forced to play nice at other parties before. Adorable. “Want to put some money down on that?”

He got one last narrow eyed stare as they stepped through the doorway. The room was packed and all eyes seemed to trail to them, which wasn’t unusual - people did tend to look around at newcomers - but they seemed to stay on them. Alex blamed Tom’s suit. 

“That’s her,” Tom hissed nodding to a group of five people standing together. He wasn’t specific, but Alex had no trouble picking out which one Tom meant. Tom always did have a type - black hair (dyed in this case), with a full tattoo sleeve (this time in greyscale). She was chatting with a group - their laughter mingling with the slightly too loud Christmas music that threatened to set Alex’s teeth on edge. 

He took a deep breath. Assessed the options. It wouldn’t be too hard to just grab a drink and step over. The group wasn’t completely closed off to the room. A direct approach, a charming smile, perhaps a compliment post introductions - Alex scanned them for a shoe brand or club pin or even notable socks - and they’d be in. 

“You going to order?” Tom asked, nodding at one of the service stations. Alex frowned.

“Nah; I’ll grab some champagne.” Alex had served drinks to order enough times to know better than to follow Tom. At least the trays of champagne being circled by the waiters represented a random chance if someone fancied poisoning him.

Tom was unconcerned. “Suit yourself.” 

“With puns like that you’ll have her in stitches,” Alex observed. Tom shot him a look.

“Don’t you even start...” he hissed.

“Am I wearing you out?” 

“I swear to God, Rider. We agreed - ”

“Mr. Harries!” 

Tom stiffened next to Alex, who gave him a sidelong look. A small, stiff smile was on his face, and he was looking ahead. Alex followed his gaze and saw a slightly overweight man making his way towards them. 

“ _ Harries? _ ” he muttered next to Tom, who shushed him.

“Mr. Gideon!” he said overly brightly as the man halted in front of them. Alex eyed him. Hermès watch, Brioni suit, Berluti shoes, and cuff links that were probably worth more than Tom’s entire salary for the year: if Tom’s reaction hadn’t been enough, it wasn’t a hard leap to guess that this was the head of the company - or at least someone near the top. Alex had the wry thought that whilst spotting wealth was a skill, wearing it subtly was a different one, and apparently not one that Mr. Gideon had grasped yet. 

“Good to see you, Harries!” Mr. Gideon said, but small, dark eyes had already slid to Alex. “And who’s this?” 

“This is my flat mate, Alex.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” He stuck out his hand and, not seeing a way to refuse, Alex took it. 

“You as well,” he said, hoping for a pat on the shoulder and to move on, but the man was still holding his hand, his eyes locked on Alex’s wrist. 

“So nice to see young men wearing watches,” he said. “I’m afraid they’ve fallen out of fashion, haven’t they?” For good reason, Alex thought: they were tacky and clunky displays of wealth in a world where everyone carried a phone. But a Smithers creation was more than just a timepiece and Ben had more or less made Alex promise to wear it everywhere because Alex “couldn’t be trusted”.

“Oh this...it’s just an heirloom.” Alex tried to brush it off. “Comes in handy in a pinch.” 

Tom shifted. At least he got the joke even if he disapproved. Gideon did too if the smile blooming on his face was anything to go by. 

“Would you mind if I had a look? I’m a bit of a connoisseur…”

Gideon wasn’t giving Alex a lot of choice: he still hadn’t let go of Alex’s hand.

“Of course not,” Alex said with feigned politeness. Gideon was already peering down to look at the watch. “Might be a bit of a disappointment compared to yours, of course.” 

“The brand looks familiar...” Gideon trailed off with a frown. His eyes flickered up to meet his.

There was a few seconds’ pause in which Alex fought to keep his face impassive. Then Gideon - finally - let Alex’s hand go.

“Not quite like anything I’ve seen,” he said. “Still, some good taste.” 

His eyes trailed over to Tom, giving him an obvious once-over. Alex saw the red begin to creep up his friend’s neck over the patterned suit lapel. 

“Best let you boys get to the bar,” said Gideon at last. His tone was cheerful enough, though there seemed to be a slightly false note to it. “Don’t want to stand between you and a good drink!”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Gideon!” Tom said as Gideon stepped away to the next group and they made their way over to the bar. “I bring you to my work party, and  _ of course _ you end up impressing  _ my  _ boss,” he grumbled to Alex, before putting in his order - a double scotch. 

Alex could empathize. After that conversation he wanted a stiff drink too. _You’re not here on a mission_ , he reminded himself, and tried to shake the lingering feeling of unease. He’d probably just been trying to sound impressive when talking about the watch. It didn’t mean anything. Just a mild bit of bragging, maybe, to put Alex at ease. But if that was right, wouldn’t he have taken Alex’s chance to show off his own watch?

“You with me, mate?” He glanced over to see Tom holding his drink. Alex had never seen him drink whiskey before, but maybe he thought it made him look distinguished. It might have worked if it hadn’t been for his outfit choice.

“Yep, got me just in time.” The joke didn’t fit but it would hopefully lower Tom’s hackles about the whole thing with Gideon.

“You’re impossible.” He shook his head. But his eyes were already lingering in the direction of the small group by the door. 

“Do you want to go and talk to Alicia now?” Alex asked with a smile, as he picked a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter.

Tom took a visible deep breath and nodded. “ _ Allison _ . And OK. But try not to embarrass me in front of her?” 

“Think you already got that covered,” Alex advised him as they picked their way through the crowd. “But I’ll certainly try not to make it any worse.”

  * SCENE BREAK - 



It was difficult to embarrass Tom in front of lawyers who only wanted to talk about fracking and energy legislation. 

After half an hour, Alex finally pulled himself away with a gesture at his empty champagne flute. He’d meant to nurse it a while longer, but there was only so much he could take without needing an out.

Honestly. He’d been in less painful interrogation rooms. 

Less tense ones too: the energy between Tom and Allison was charged in that awkward way that made him feel like just the smallest push one way or the other would break the fragile bond forming on the back of the driest subjects imaginable. He couldn’t even crack a joke to lighten the mood for fear of ruining everything so he had just stood there and pretended to look interested. It was not a natural look on him. 

Tom owed him big time for this, Alex thought irritably. Or maybe his patience was just lower when he had to act as a civilian. He surveyed the room, wondering if there wasn’t somewhere he could take a break for a minute. The heat in the room was already oppressive; his head was spinning with provisions of the Petroleum Act 1998. His gaze landed on the now-closed oak doors and, setting his glass on one of the bar tables, headed for them, slipping out of them into the much cooler lobby. He closed the door behind him but it almost immediately opened again, a woman stepping out, and, worried he was about to get embroiled in another discussion, Alex took off down the nearest corridor.

It was lined with stacks of food warming boxes and trays loaded on flat trollies, and Alex guessed he’d just turned into a service hallway. With the party in full swing and hors d'oeuvres about to be served, he was the only one there, save for one. All the waitstaff in the party had been of a type - weedy 20-somethings looking to make some Christmas money. The man currently looting through the stack of boxes did not. His loose white collared shirt did little to hide his bulging muscles - or the pistol at his waist. 

Well, fuck. 

The man looked up and caught his gaze. 

“Sir, this is a staff area.” His voice was gruff and brooked no arguments. It would have sent anyone else scurrying. Alex wasn’t so easily frightened off.

“You know where the men’s room is?” he asked, slurring his words in feigned drunkenness. Alex had never quite gotten over the value of being underestimated. He might have lost the baby fat on his cheeks, but adulthood offered him new and wonderful ways of pretending to be less of a threat than he was. 

“Down the hall to the left.” Wrong answer. If the man hadn’t all but confirmed it with the gun, he would definitely be suspicious now. What was he up to? It had to be poison - or something of that ilk - if he was messing around with the food. Alex needed to get him away from the boxes, make enough of a mess that this batch couldn’t be used, and then assess the rest of it. It was probably safe, but this man had arrived before Alex, and with Tom in the party “probably” wasn’t exactly in Alex’s list of acceptable things.

He came to a decision.

“Thanks.” He made to leave, and then stumbled. He caught himself on the fire extinguisher against the wall; it came away as he tumbled to the ground with a small groan. The man let out a huff of frustration but stepped closer, wrapping a meaty hand around Alex’s arm to haul him up. 

Alex didn’t hesitate. He struck out, swinging the fire extinguisher upwards. It collided with a satisfying clunk as it came into contact with the man’s temple, and the hand holding onto Alex went slack. He rolled out of the way as the man crumpled heavily to the ground, before scrambling up and heaving the dead weight over to do a quick frisk. Nothing in his pockets except a phone and a wallet. 

No sign of any poison. 

Alex considered. He did have the pistol with him. Maybe he’d just been planning a shot while he was serving? Bold and public, but some clients wanted that kind of display. 

His eyes slid back to the supplies stacks. Or maybe he had already used the poison. A quick fire extinguisher to the trays would sort that out. Alex stepped over the man he’d just knocked out to look into the boxes, and froze. M16s lined the edges of the top box, cartridges stacked neatly in the middle. Without thinking, Alex moved to the next trolley along, hurriedly opening up the first box to find stacks of grayish white putty that he was all too familiar with. 

_ Oh fuck.  _ He wasn’t looking at a simple murder attempt. This was a terrorist attack in the making.

Which meant it was way above his pay grade. Especially since he wasn’t even  _ working  _ tonight,  _ was he _ ?

Alex let out a long exhale, trying to clear his head.

_ First step: move the body. Don’t let them know you’ve caught on.  _

Then call for help.

Probably at the same time.

He gathered himself and moved back to the man, sliding his pistol from his waistband and tucking it into his own, satisfied when there was no sign of stirring. The shoes came next; they took a little more time to get off, but he had learned the hard way that rubber dragged and on polished floors like this they squeaked. Best to just deal with it upfront. He risked a moment to tuck the shoes underneath one of the trollies. Then he then manually set the time on his watch to 2, and 3 presses to the sides later he was met with a ring. 

“I thought you were off tonight,” came Ben’s amused tone.

Well, that was fast.

“See, _ about _ that,” Alex said, kneeling down to hook his arms underneath the man’s armpits. “I  _ am _ , except this party’s about to get lit and not in the good way.”

“Explain like a normal person or I’m hanging up.”

“28 semi automatics and enough C4 to make Bahrain look like a children’s birthday party. Just discovered it in a service corridor.” 

The watch audio wasn’t always clear, but the sound of swearing was unmistakable. 

“You’re at the Corinthia?” Ben asked.

“Yep, main conference hall. 250 civilians; unknown number of actors.” Alex was panting as he reached the first door. He dropped the man, propping him up against his legs as he pushed the door slightly open to look in.

Maintenance closet. 

Perfect. 

“Got anything else for me?” Ben asked. He sounded slightly exasperated. As well he might - it wasn’t a lot to go on.

“Nope,” Alex grunted, as he hooked his arms and gave a final firm drag until the man’s feet cleared the doorway before dropping him. “Just that a Mr. Gideon is here, seemed familiar with our tech, don’t kno -”

“ _ David _ Gideon?” Ben hissed, cutting Alex off.

“How should I know? Tom works for some oil company if that helps.” Alex pulled a roll of duct tape from one of the warped shelves. 

“Damn it, Alex, do your research.” 

“I’m not  _ working _ , in case you’d forgotten,” Alex bit out, picking at the end of the roll to get it started.

“Apparently not! I’ll let - ” 

The watch went abruptly silent. Alex frowned, glancing down at it, and then reached for his mobile. No bars. Great. A jammer, probably, if this was as organised as it looked. Good thing he hadn’t waited to call. 

Alex flipped the man over with practiced ease and pulled his wrists behind him - winding the tape quickly around them, shifting for a few passes across the ankles, and then adding a final piece to the mouth. It wasn’t his best wrapping job but certainly better than his presents at home. More importantly, it would hold until someone came, which was all that mattered at this point. 

He pulled up the camera on his phone, flipped it into selfie mode, and, without stepping back into the corridor, angled the screen so that he could see down it. Empty save for the trollies of weapons. Alex paused, staring at them, worrying his lip. Those really needed to go. The amount of C4 alone could bring down a city block. He wouldn’t be able to handle both trollies but if he took care of the guns first…. 

His eyes caught on the fire extinguisher he’d rested against the wall of the corridor.

That could work. 

He nudged the man back over to untie the serving apron and shed his coat and tie in favour of it. Not an identical match but it would be enough for those who probably wouldn’t be analyzing too much.

Another check down the hallway showed it clear, and he slipped down it stopping to pick up the extinguisher and sling it on top of the heat boxes. He fumbled with the brake of the trolley, dress shoes sliding off of the metal before it finally released. Every instinct was telling him to run and get out of the line of fire before he was caught, but he forced himself to push the boxes sedately back down the corridor. 

Forcing the trolley into the maintenance closet was a tight squeeze - especially with the body still propped up against the shelves - but they just about fit. He flipped on the light and shut the door, before considering his options. It’d be easiest to just open all the boxes and give them a good hose down in one go, but the room didn’t have much ventilation and he wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of choking himself or his captive on the fumes. 

His eyes landed on the zipper on the top box. It looked sturdy enough. Maybe if he just kept the boxes zipped... He moved to the first, opening it just enough to fit the nozzle in, and then pulled the pin, pressing the handle and breathing a sigh of relief when he heard the loud rush of air and foam. He gave it a count of ten before he pulled the hose out, coughing as some of the aerosol leaked, and hurriedly zipped it tight before moving to the next one, satisfied that he’d been right that the zips would contain the fumes. He just hoped it worked. M16s were notoriously bad when it came to any kind of dust - they were a nightmare in the desert. He would just have to trust that the foam would wreak as much havoc as sand. 

He zipped the last box shut and stepped back. 

The MI6s were out of action. But the C4 was an entirely different matter. If it was wrapped well there wasn’t much he could do to destroy it. 

So what to do next? 

Ben would alert the authorities and send help. In the meantime Alex could try and grab the trolley and camp out here until the cavalry arrived or... 

A gunshot shattered the silence. It was followed immediately by screams. Alex winced.

Great. It had already started. Definitely a hostage situation.

He should probably go and make sure no one did anything stupid.

Babysitting, in other words. 

But if hostages had been taken, that meant the perpetrators were occupied. It would be nothing to just grab the trolley with the C4, and get it out of the way - preferably somewhere they would never consider looking. Worst case scenario, they stopped him and dragged him into the room with everyone else. 

Well, the  _ actual _ worst case scenario was that they shot him - but was it even Christmas without that threat hanging over his head? In any case, it was worth the risk, because the alternatives were just leaving the C4 in their hands or staying here and hoping that they didn’t turn their guns on the crowd when they lost the explosives they were going to use to do...who knew what. Alex had stopped trying to make sense of criminals years ago. 

The only question was, where did he take it? He turned. There was a firemap on the back of the door, and he used his finger to find where he was, tracing what was close by. The kitchens were a nonstarter, given what the weapons had been disguised as; as were the maintenance corridors. He’d prefer to leave other people out of it, so maybe not the front desk. Plausibly he could grab a room key from there without anyone noticing, but… He traced his finger over just a little farther and smiled as a plan started to form in his head. It’d mean going back out into the lobby but they  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t look there and there was a chance that it might ruin the C4….

He couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that.

Mind made up, he took a steadying breath and left the safety of the maintenance closet. Time to make a splash. 


End file.
